


On Growth

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 21:18:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13280067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: Guards don’t need to be that tall, and Himuro still towers over some of their female classmates, but that’s not even relevant to anything.





	On Growth

**Author's Note:**

> ya height diff is cute but it can also sometimes be difficult
> 
> let's make y2k18 the year of liuhimu

“When are you getting that growth spurt?”

Himuro looks up—and he usually doesn’t have to look this far up. Didn’t, Liu supposes, because another giant growth spurt is exactly what’s happened to him, left him scraping seven feet slouching, and Himuro’s still the same 184 centimeters if he sweet talks the school nurse into giving him the extra. Guards don’t need to be that tall, and Himuro still towers over some of their female classmates, but that’s not even relevant to anything.

(Not least to Himuro, who prefers to play more like a swingman, who’s used to going head-to-head against their opponents’ biggest forwards and who, especially right now, might even be their best option for that.) But Liu’s thinking about basketball again (how can he help it when Coach is driving them this hard?) and that’s not even relevant at this particular moment when all he’s trying to do is hold Himuro’s hand. Liu’s halfway stooped over; his face is pointed toward the ground, grey-white snow piled in drifts and stomped down in patterns of feet over footsteps. He’s not even looking at Himuro, can’t even fucking appreciate the way the cold makes Himuro’s cheeks flush pink. It’s debatable as to whether Liu could in the flickering streetlights from the athletic facility to the dorm or not, anyway, but he’d like to tease Himuro about it anyway, and kiss him.

God, he’s so dumb and sentimental. Where the fuck did all of this come from, anyway?

“Your fault,” he says, but it comes out as more of a throat noise, rasped through his wind-ripped throat, and Himuro simply pulls him forward.

Liu will probably not remember to joke about steroids and growth hormones by the time they get back; as short as this walk can be the sun sets real quick in the fall as they make their way, and it feels endless when then wind chill is this bitter. Holding hands would be nicer not only if Himuro were a little taller but if Liu could feel his hands through his gloves, and Himuro’s fingers laced between his as warm and not just about to slip out.

He can mostly feel his right hand, but it doesn’t make him want to pull away the left from Himuro and put it in his other pocket. At least not for another few seconds, until he does and straightens back up, glancing up only to get a face full of wind and the distinct impression that it’s still a while until they reach their dorm.

“I’ll grow when I’m ready,” says Himuro, and he waits, smiling up at Liu.

Fuck. Liu kisses him anyway, cold lips and nose and cheeks against his own cold face, shocking the parts where his scarf’s slipped down for a moment. The inside of his mouth is warm, his tongue and teeth; Liu wants. Fuck, Liu wants. He reaches one hand down to grab Himuro’s ass and misses, getting his lower back instead, and Himuro laughs into his mouth.

“Fuck you; get taller,” says Liu, bending his knees and finally reaching a handful, through Himuro’s uniform pants and underwear but still soft and plush, worth the reach. Liu groans.

“Should I stand on the snow?” says Himuro.

They’re better off inside; Liu legs go after squeezing Himuro’s ass once more. They walk quickly, Liu without thought and Himuro probably with plenty. The heat and radiator smell, like rusty old toast almost, is immediately overridden by the wind, picking up speed again, but when they finally get into the vestibule and stomp the snow from their boots Liu’s feeling a little more comfortable.

Himuro hadn’t taken a shower after practice (too cold, and maybe he’d had the right idea); Liu waits in his own room organizing his homework. He’ll do the rest at breakfast tomorrow, trying not to get crumbs or stains on the paper, or let his writing jerk and stumble when Himuro presses his fingers a little too far up on his thigh. Tonight, it’s already too late; even when the nights are most of the day they’re still too short. Even when the radiator’s turned up all the way it’s still a little bit cold, dry but cold.

Maybe not too cold when Himuro walks in with just a towel low on his hips, hair almost peeled back away from his face. He tastes like toothpaste (Liu’s toothpaste again, damn it) when Liu kisses him; his hands are impossibly soft on Liu’s cheeks. Like this, standing between Liu’s legs with Liu sitting on the bed, Himuro’s a little bit taller. And like this, Liu can so easily grab his ass, squeeze it through the terrycloth, graze his thumb across the top of the towel.

Himuro kisses him again, firm and light, and then eyes him with amusement. There is water on his lashes; Liu thinks about brushing it off, except how would he? It looks like a commercial, too perfect, like nearly everything about Himuro. Except for his height.

“Take growth hormones,” says Liu.

“Pretty sure that’s illegal,” says Himuro.

Liu snorts; they both know the law won’t stand in Himuro’s way if he really wants to do something.

“You don’t think I’m cute like this?” says Himuro.

Liu’s hands are a little too busy to flip Himuro the bird, but, well, yeah. “You’re fucking adorable. Don’t have to be such a dick about it, though.”

“Neither do you,” says Himuro.

His breath is warm on Liu’s face; Liu’s probably getting a little flushed right now from the room and from Himuro, a deadly combination.

“Wei,” says Himuro (not fair, not fair when he does that). “It’s a school night.”

“I’m dressed for bed,” says Liu. “You’re not.”

“Who says I’m not?” Himuro whispers into Liu’s ear, his lips grazing the side of Liu’s jaw, and Liu hisses.

“You’re gonna be cold.”

Himuro hums, more a vibration of his throat against Liu’s shoulder than a sound; Liu closes his eyes. It is a school night, and a night before another five in the morning practice, and he’d be okay with falling asleep with the lights on and his hands groping Himuro’s ass. Not in the morning when his back is screaming at him, but right now.

Himuro steps back, looking at him, a sliver of want—not the trying-to-be-sexy kind of want, but a real kind of longing that Liu hadn’t thought he could consciously show—drifting across his face.

“Hey,” says Liu, rolling onto the bed, gathering the covers around him and shifting toward the wall.

Himuro pulls on one of Liu’s old t-shirts and a pair of his own sweatpants he’d left on the floor last night, curls up on the bed’s remaining space.

“If you took a few inches off, we could fit better,” says Himuro.

“That’s viable,” says Liu.

The breath in Himuro’s laugh is warm on Liu’s skin.


End file.
